Portrait of a Lightning God
by Eryis
Summary: With a crappy job and no financial support, Laxus needs money. On Bickslow and Evergreen's advice, he goes for an audition to model for the reclusive painter Freed Justine. A man he knows nothing about, but finds himself enthralled by. [Fraxus One Shot]


**Portrait of A Lightning God**

Laxus couldn't quite believe he had resorted to this.

He was standing in an art studio, with another man looking him up and down. This was a situation unfamiliar to Laxus, and one far from his comfort zone. The man inspecting him didn't seem to be at all bothered by Laxus' discomfort, either because he had been in this situation before and was used to it, or simply because he was the type of man who didn't take other people's feelings into account. Laxus hoped it wasn't the latter; if this went well, the two men would be spending a lot of time together.

That was the nature of being a painter's model.

The whole thing was Bickslow and Evergreen's idea. Since leaving college, Laxus had been unemployed and using his family's money to get by. Apparently Makarov had gotten sick of that and cut him off. The only job Laxus had managed to get hadn't paid well, just enough to keep him in his apartment and eating. But it was unstable. His friends' solution was to pick up some extra money by modelling.

He had immediately discounted the idea, but they had been prepared; very prepared. They'd found an ad online from a painter needing a model for an upcoming painting. They had done a background check on him; the artist was respected, and previous models had only good things to say. They'd even gone so far as to contact him so they could get a better understanding of what Laxus would actually need to do. Apparently it should take four sessions, it would happen in the countryside, and would involve no nudity; Evergreen apparently knew that would have been one of Laxus' first questions.

There was no reason to say no. Annoyingly.

So now he stood in the painter's studio, allowing the man to inspect him. Laxus wasn't entirely sure what the inspection was for, as he had already sent the man pictures of himself and had been accepted for the job. Based on the multiple poses Laxus had been told to make – all just different ways of standing – he assumed this was a brainstorming session.

"Cross your hands in front of you and look down," The painter instructed, and Laxus complied.

He had looked into who the man was. His name was Freed Justine, he was a growing name in the art world (if the articles about him were to be believed) and apparently favoured landscapes to anything with an actual person in it; there was obvious exceptions, but not many. His private life was something of a mystery, apparently, and he had gained the reputation of a recluse.

Laxus hadn't accepted that and had also gotten in contact with one of Freed's previous models; a woman named Mirajane. She spoke highly of him, both as a painter and as a person, and had encouraged Laxus to try it out. From their conversation, Laxus surmised he was a good man, but could be standoffish. He was certainly seeing that.

A small hum broke Laxus' thoughts.

"I think that might be it," Freed said, apparently to himself. "You can relax now."

Laxus did so and looked behind him towards the painter. He had walked to a drafting table and sketched a quick figure in the same pose that Laxus had just taken. It only took a few moments and was nothing more than a series of lines and ovals, but it was certainly Laxus; the blonde couldn't help but be impressed.

"You said that you're free on Wednesdays and the weekends, correct?" He asked, looking towards Laxus.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "The other days I start at eight and finish at five."

"Okay. I'll email you the time and places ill require you, and I'm sure we can discuss our meetings further that way," He stood up and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. Laxus frowned as he picked out a selection of notes and offered them to him; it was around a hundred dollars altogether.

"I didn't think I was getting paid for today?" Laxus asked; not yet taking the money.

"I need you in certain clothing; a black exercise shirt and black jeans. I could attempt you guess your sizes, but this seems easier," He offered the money again. "Make sure its high-quality fabrics, and if this isn't enough tell me and I'll reimburse you for what I owe."

"And if it comes under?"

"Consider it a bonus," Freed shrugged. "I'd appreciate it if you got them quickly, though. Ideally I'd like to start on Saturday."

"Sure," Laxus nodded. "There anything else you need from me?"

"Not today. As I said, I can email you with the details of where you'll need to be and when," Freed placed his pencil down and looked Laxus in the eye for the first time. He was smiling a little. "I look forward to working with you, Mr Dreyar."

"Err, you too," Laxus muttered awkwardly.

Freed didn't walk Laxus to the door, but the blonde didn't care. As he walked, he played with the money in his pocket absently; this was the most disposably income he'd had since being cut off. And definitely too much for what Freed had wanted him to buy. He decided that he would buy the clothes immediately; he'd use some of the remaining money on getting a pizza or something for his dinner. It would be great not eating something not from a microwave.

After leaving the studio, he thought about Freed. Mirajane had been right; he could be blunt and seemingly uncaring, but he wasn't exactly rude. And logic dictated the more time they spent together, the less awkward it would be. It wouldn't be nearly as bad as Laxus had expected it to be.

The guy had a nice smile, too.

* * *

If it hadn't been obvious from his studio, Freed had an incredibly keen creative eye.

This was the only conclusion Laxus had made when he first saw where he would be modelling. He had managed to find a small, private lake outside of the city. It had an old wooden dock on it which, which looked at from a certain angle, stood directly in front of a large mountain. He had managed to find this location, and gotten permission to use it, within three days. It was… incredibly impressive to do so.

After Freed had explained what he wanted Laxus to do – stand on the edge of the dock in the same pose he had done in the studio – the blonde had asked why he hadn't organised a location beforehand. Apparently he had, and the original idea had been to paint him on the top of a city rooftop, but Laxus was better suited to a more natural environment, as he was a more earthy figure. Laxus didn't know if this was a compliment, an insult or just an observation, so he decided just to ignore the comment and do what the painter wanted.

That had been over an hour ago, they hadn't spoken since.

Laxus hadn't known any creative people in his life, so didn't know what exactly to do. He had decided that he would remain quiet, staying in the pose, as this was safe. Freed seemed level headed, but artists could be volatile and Laxus didn't want to risk angering the man. His work has staff rescheduling and Laxus knew he was at risk, so money was tighter than normal.

It was boring, but not difficult work. The post wasn't taxing on his body, and Freed had allowed him a single earphone so he could at least listen to music. It was essentially as expected. He was standing still; Freed was painting him.

"I should apologise," Freed spoke suddenly, and Laxus almost broke the pose.

"Why?" He asked after a few seconds to think.

"I was not welcoming when you came to my studio," Freed explained, and Laxus glanced at him. he was still painting. "When your friends contacted me, they explained this wasn't something you've done before, and you might not be comfortable. I didn't take that into account, that wasn't fair of me."

"You don't need to worry about that," Laxus placated.

"Perhaps," Freed agreed, and Laxus frowned a little. "But still, I apologise. I've been stressed for the last few months and I haven't been the most respectful person."

"Well, don't beat yourself up over it," Laxus assured him. He waited a moment before speaking again. "What's got you stressed out?"

"I have an exhibition in a month, it's in the biggest gallery in town. Well, other than museums, but they hardly count if you're an artist with an actual pulse," Freed explained, and Laxus chuckled. "But it's high profile, and I have to please them to keep in good faith. They want twenty exhibits altogether, and I'm not as prepared as I would like to be."

"You far behind?"

"I've finished sixteen of the twenty so far."

"That ain't too bad," Laxus said, glancing up at Freed again. He still hasn't stopped painting despite their conversation, so it wasn't too much of a distraction. "When did you start?"

"Eight months ago," Freed sighed, and Laxus winced a little. That meant about an average of two paintings a month, and now he had a month to do four.

"That could be worse," Laxus attempted to assure him, and Freed stopped painting to look at him with a slight raised eyebrow. His tone must not have been convincing. "Do you think you can make it."

"I'm sure I can," Freed sounded resigned. "I just don't want to sacrifice quality."

"Well, I'm sure whatever you do, you'll manage to make it good," Laxus was surer of his words now. "From what I've seen of your stuff, you're pretty good. And the critics seem to like you, especially that Jason guy. He just couldn't stop talking about how great you are."

"He' an enthusiastic man," Freed chuckled. "But still, this exhibition is like a test. Artists who had better respect than me tried filling that hall. If it doesn't work, they were classed as over-hyped and forgotten by the end of the month. I'd rather than not happen with me."

"Well, good luck I guess," Laxus didn't know what else to say. But the quiet was deafening. "And you really don't need to worry about upsetting me; I can take a bit of rudeness. I was a pretty big asshole as a teenager, it'd be hypocritical if I was sensitive about it."

"I suppose it would," Freed nodded, before smirking a little over his canvas. "Well, I'll be sure to treat you like dirt then, if that's what you want."

"Can't picture that," Laxus challenged, glancing up again. "I mean you felt so guilty about making me uncomfortable. I mean you must have been worrying about it the moment I left the door, ya might have even lost sleep. But sure, if you wanna upset me, you try your best."

"Don't misinterpret my politeness as being passive. It will not end well for you," Freed warned, and Laxus let out a single laugh. "Unrelatedly, that pose isn't working. You seem to be healthy enough unless your muscles are simply for vanity. Perform a handstand, quick as you can. I'm sure a man like you can sustain it for a few hours."

Laxus laughed, waited a few seconds and glanced at Freed. The artist was looking at him expectantly, no sign of a joke on his features. Laxus broke the pose, a little disbelieving.

"You're serious?" His voice was a little panicked.

A moment passed before Freed smirked again and looked down to his canvas. Laxus let out a little breath of relief before laughing and getting back into the pose. He was smiling this time and hoped that it wouldn't ruin the painting in anyway, because he couldn't seem to fight it. At least he felt a lot more comfortable now.

"Asshole," He laughed.

"I suppose," Freed agreed, and that made Laxus smile wider. "But if you doubt me again, I can assure you I'll follow through with any threats I make. You'll find my desire to be spiteful supersedes my desire to be successful."

"I don't doubt it," Laxus laughed again.

He smiled for the rest of the session.

* * *

The more Laxus got to know Freed, the more he liked him.

Over the weeks they had been meeting up for the modelling sessions, they had spoken a lot. Sometimes about Freed, sometimes about Laxus, and sometimes about whatever came to mind. The sessions had lasted hours, so it was hard to remember what exactly all their conversations had been about, but Laxus enjoyed them all. Freed made him laugh, made him feel comfortable, and made him look forward to their sessions together. He loved being around the other man.

He didn't need to go to every session anymore, but he still did. Apparneltly Freed had drawn him first and had planned to do the background after; his usual way of painting models. But Laxus insisted that he be there just in case he needed to make an adjustment and needed him there. It was an excuse, Laxus just enjoyed Freed's company.

Maybe Freed knew this. Laxus didn't mind if he did.

Laxus had grown attracted to Freed and thought perhaps Freed felt the same way. He hadn't spoken about it; he wasn't the type to let his feelings be known. Certainly not when there was a risk of fucking things up between the two of them. Being friends was better than nothing.

But still, the blonde couldn't help but think that maybe something was happening between them. Freed hadn't once questioned why Laxus wanted to be there when he didn't need to be and seemed to welcome the company. They'd gone to coffee a few times, once after a session and once just because Freed had offered. Even as he watched Freed paint, it didn't exactly feel platonic. Though the wine the two were drinking might have contributed to that.

God, were they having a picnic weren't they? This was close to being a date. That was too much to think about.

A he glanced to Freed, he frowned a little. He had noticed that the conversation was somewhat one sided. He had put it down to Freed being engrossed in his work, it had happened from time to time. But previously, Freed hadn't worn the worried expression on his face. His hands hadn't been tensed. And he hadn't drunk three glasses of wine within a two-hour period.

"Okay," Laxus sighed after a while, taking the paintbrush out of Freed's hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Freed said immediately.

"Fucking lie to me again, Justine. See what happens?" It was perhaps a little confrontational. But Freed could be a closed book when he wanted to be, and Laxus was slightly buzzed from the wine. It seemed to work, as Freed's facial expressions went from challenging to resigned.

"It's just… I haven't had this much trouble painting something in a while. It's bothering me," Freed sighed, looking at his painting.

Laxus couldn't agree with Freed, the painting looked great. Only half of the background was completed, but it was done very well. And the figure that he had been modelling for looked great as well. Perhaps he was just the type of person who was overly critical of their work, although that didn't seem consistent with what he knew about the man. Freed had a lot of confidence in himself and wasn't the type to shy away from his own pride.

"What can I do to help?" He asked; he was better at solutions than sympathy. "I can get back up there and see if that helps."

"Perhaps. Thank you."

Laxus nodded and walked to the small wooden dock. He got back into his pose and didn't speak for a while, knowing that it would help Freed get back into a creative mindset. Glancing up without moving his head, he saw that Freed was painting again, so decided that remaining quiet would be for the best. Freed's deadline from the gallery was getting closer, and it was only fair he did what he could to help him out.

He looked down again and allowed Freed to paint. This continued for a little while – around ten minutes, if Laxus was guessing correctly – until Laxus heard a small scuffling sound. He frowned and looked up. As he did so, Freed shouted.

"Fuck!" His voice echoed as he stepped over his upturned easel.

Freed hadn't sword often, and the visceral tone in which he had said it shocked Laxus. He left the dock immediately and walked to Freed, who had chosen to pace around the small clearing of dirt that he and Laxus had been sitting on. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes unblinking, and breath slightly audible. He was clearly incredibly stressed out.

"Woah," Laxus said, grabbing Freed by the shoulders and stopping him. "What happened?"

"It's wrong," Freed snapped. "When I started it, I thought I had the idea down. But I don't, and I've been painting it wrong basically since we began. This was meant to be the focus point of the exhibit, and it's a conventional piece of bullshit. A child could have done this."

Laxus would disagree, but Freed didn't need that. "Can you fix it?"

"Not without starting over," Freed sighed.

"Well, what exactly would you do differently, what's wrong with it?" Laxus asked. Maybe if Freed explained why he didn't like it; he would figure a way to fix it.

"There's no personality in it. No honesty. There's none of-" Freed cut himself off, before thinking a moment. "There's none of you in it. not really."

"What d'you mean."

"I mean… I decided to stage it here because I thought nature reflected who you were, do you remember that?" Laxus nodded. "Well, look at it. You can't see your face, you're in a pose I chose before I knew anything about you, you're in clothes that I chose for you. It doesn't reflect who you are even slightly. You're supposed to be the focus of the exhibition and I've made it so you could be replaced by basically any man in the country."

That was… a lot. Laxus hadn't known he was important in Freed's exhibition; he really had just thought that he was just the model for one of the paintings. Obviously Freed had thought otherwise, and just hadn't mentioned it.

"Okay," Laxus said after a moment. "We've got a week left. That enough time to start again with a new idea?"

"Don't be-"

"Is it enough time?" Laxus asked again.

"It's…" Freed sighed, thinking. "I could paint something in a week, and it could be good. But I'd have to work almost constantly, and you've actually got a job so… It just wouldn't be feasible."

"I'll quit," Laxus shrugged, and Freed's head snapped towards him. "I'll quit, then I can be here as much as you need me."

"What?" Freed asked, apparently blind sighted.

"The boss says three people are getting laid off at the end of the month anyway. He hates me and I'm not great at what I do, so I'm basically gone already," Laxus shrugged. "Why give them any more of my time, right?"

"And if you're wrong."

"Hate working for the place anyway. This would've been the kick I needed to get out and move on."

Freed waited for a moment, thinking. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't," Laxus assured, and the tone he spoke left no room for argument.

"Thank you," Freed smiled, and Laxus' stomach flipped.

He would do perhaps anything for that smile.

The difference between Freed when he had his freak out and how he was after he restarted his picture was like night and day. It was almost jarring, but Laxus was loving it. To see him so content, wrapped up in his creativity, was a sight to behold.

Laxus would stay here forever if he could.

* * *

There was a clear difference between the first painting and this, particularly in how Laxus was posing. Freed had insisted he wear his favourite outfit, and Laxus had complied. He was dressed in tattered combat boots; the same black jeans he had brought with Freed's money (they'd quickly grown to be his favourite); a purple shirt he'd owned for a while; and his long fur lined coat. Bickslow had seen him before he left that day, and claimed the outfit was quintessential Laxus.

Freed seemed pleased with Laxus' choice and smiled when he first saw him. The only adjustments he had made was requesting Laxus unbutton his shirt, so his stomach and chest were visible, apparently making Laxus seem more in tandem with nature. Laxus had done so without argument.

It was funny. If he had been told that would be his outfit when he met Freed, he would have turned down the job offer without hesitance.

His pose was different too. No longer was he looked down with his hands crossed. Instead his right arm was raised straight into the air and his fist was clenched, and he was looking directly at Freed; he compared it to looking down the lens of a camera. He was no longer standing on the dock anymore, instead he was on the shore of the lake, the water reaching to the middle of his shins. The tail of his coat pooled around him, and the chill was obvious, but he didn't care.

The speed in which Freed was painting was faster than he had in all of their time in the first version of the scene. And all throughout, Freed had been talking and smiling. Laxus hadn't realised that the longer they had worked on the first painting, the more subdued Freed had become. Now, he seemed more alive again.

Laxus was relishing in it.

"So," Laxus asked, keeping the smirk on his face as he spoke. Freed had requested the expression as well. "You gonna let me see anything today?"

They had been doing this for days, but Freed hadn't once shown Laxus what he had painted. With the first version he hadn't been shy of showing Laxus, but apparently this was different. When he had asked Freed why this was, he had been told that this was an honest reflection of how Freed saw Laxus, and that Laxus could see it only when it was complete. Laxus understood why this was but found himself craving an insight as to how Freed saw him.

"Potentially," Freed said, and Laxus' heart quickened. When he had asked before, the answer had been a flat no.

"Really, you're close to being finished?"

"I think so. Close enough that I might show you, at least," Freed smiled a little, and Laxus felt a thrill go through him. "We'll probably have to come back here tomorrow though, to finish on the finer details. So don't expect a day off."

"You're harsher than my old boss, y'know that?" Laxus laughed.

"I take it as a compliment."

Again, Laxus laughed before setting his face into the expression that Freed wanted from him. Even with the arm raised into the air, he hadn't had any trouble holding the pose; although his workouts had suffered slightly on his arm. Perhaps he was being sentimental, but he thought that maybe this was because he was looking directly at Freed's face, and watching the artist's content expression as he worked was hypnotic. The first day he had been posing for hours – with breaks, Freed wasn't so cruel as to keep him still constantly – and it had gone by in the blink of an eye.

That was an issue that plagued them both again, as time seemed to be rushing by. The two kept talking as Freed worked, and Laxus was in a constant battle to keep a smile from beating out his smirk. It was almost therapeutic; a sensation helped by the slight movement of water and the ambience of the nearby insects.

This relaxation broke at the sound of thunder.

Both Freed and Laxus perked at the sudden rumbling, and Laxus looked behind him. Clouds had formed above them, and it looked as though it was going to start raining. Laxus frowned a little at that.

"You think we should call it a day?"

"Probably safest," Freed said, already standing up and removing the painting from the easel.

They were quick to get back to the car, as they felt the first drops of light rain hit their skin. It wasn't heavy yet – not nearly heavy enough to damage the painting – but they both wanted to be sure. Laxus was quick to put the easel and paints that he was carrying into the trunk, securing them so that they wouldn't move around and be damaged as Freed drove. They had done this before, and had it down to a fine art.

But as the rain got heavier, their routine was disrupted slightly. Freed handed Laxus the painting without a word, and Laxus took it without thinking. It took him a moment to realise that, with Freed giving it him, it was also giving him permission to see it. he held it out under the protection of the trunk's door, and his breath hitched.

It was fantastic.

In his hands, Laxus held the only piece of art he truly cared for. He was at a loss for words as he looked at the detailed mixture of colours and inks and paints, all stemming from Freed's talent.

The painting focused on him. He was standing in the lake, arm raised to the sky, surrounded by nature. But it wasn't just a recreation of what Freed had seen. Thunderous clouds had been painted in the sky, almost swirling despite being still. A beam of erratic, powerful looking lightning slammed from the sky, hitting Laxus' raised fist and stammering down his arms. Flicker of lightning danced across any exposed part of Laxus' skin that could be seen and reflected off the lake. The colours around him were somewhat subdued and natural, but he seemed vivid and bright. His eye practically shone on the page.

"What do you think?" Freed asked, and he almost sounded nervous.

"It's fucking…" The words wouldn't come to Laxus. "It's amazing. You erm- You said you wanted to reflect more of me in this one, right?"

"I did," Freed nodded, voice still a little nervous. But he was calm. "When I look at you, Laxus, I see lightning. I- if I'm honest with myself, I see someone sharp, fast, exhilarating, powerful. You overwhelm me, Laxus. You are electrifying in a way that I can't quite put into words. I hope my art can make up for that."

Laxus still held the painting, looking at it with wide eyes. The rain beat down on his back, but he paid no mind to it. Freed thought he was overwhelming. Ironic, considering that was exactly how Laxus felt.

"Does it have a name?" Laxus asked, voice a little hoarse.

"I wish to call it 'The Lightning God.'"

That was the final straw for Laxus. He placed the painting in the trunk of Freed's car, stalked towards the artist and wrapped his arms around him. One snaked around Freed's waist, the other placed on the back of the man's head. He pushed their bodies together and pressed his lips against Freed's into a soft, passionate kiss. The rain beat down on the two men as Freed also moved, leaning into Laxus and kissing back.

That moment was timeless, and Laxus' senses were on fire. He could feel exactly what Freed had described. Everything was sharp and exhilarating and overwhelming and electric. Laxus couldn't have hoped for more.

As they kissed, thunder roaring around them and crackled of electricity lighting up the sky, Laxus saw the accuracy of the painting's title. If Freed thought that Laxus was the lightning in the painting, then Laxus deemed Freed the God. He was the creator, the man who had brought beauty to the world in his actions. What better god could there be?

And, as the painting had clearly proven, beautiful things happened when you mixed lightning and a god.


End file.
